


Rewards Well Earned

by Skalidra



Category: Batman Beyond, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Future Fic, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Marriage Proposal, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 07:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12164478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: Fresh off his encounter with Bruce and Terry, Damian is attempting to bring his life back to order. Both to reshape the direction of the League, and then to adjust to life without the goal he's been striving towards since returning to the League. The answer to all of it comes in the form of his love, Jason. Doing time for the murder of Joker, but still his in every way that matters.





	Rewards Well Earned

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for JayDami week, over on Tumblr! Day 5, Demon's head!Damian/Immortal!Jason. (Except I left out the 'Immortal!Jason' bit because I had an _idea_.) **This is your warning! This contains spoilers for the last couple Batman Beyond comic issues (as of 9/22/17)!** So, if you've read the recent Batman Beyond comics, recently Damian was introduced as being the head of the League of Assassins, replacing Ra's. So I wrote a story with this future-Damian, and then I wrote Jason in as well, who has yet to be included in that world. It's just a fun idea I had; enjoy!
> 
> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)

Damian knows the man is in his compound long before he makes an appearance, through a quiet notification of looped security cameras from one of his men, but he waves the warning off and allows the visitor his games. He doesn’t wish to hunt the man down himself, and the man’s advancing age aside he could certainly still make short work of any threat his League represents. They’ll never find him if he doesn’t allow it.

He doesn’t stray from his nightly rituals, checking all reports filtered to him of what occurs in Gotham, as well as events around the world that his lieutenants have decided to call to his notice. Nothing of immense importance right at the moment.

“Does Father know you’re out of prison?” he asks, when he senses the presence behind him.

This time, he hears the footsteps as they approach, and the click of the cane that accompanies them. Purposeful sound. “Not yet,” the roughened voice answers, before a hand slides over his shoulder and a thumb against the base of his neck. “He’s distracted; I’ll be back in my cell before he knows to look for me.”

Damian feels his eyes drift shut for a moment as the thumb rubs up against one of the harder knots in his neck, drawn there as if by some otherworldly sense. He dips his head to allow the touch, and the familiar chuckle doesn’t raise his hackles like it once did; the second hand comes in at the other side of his neck, touch shifting to a more purposeful one. There is almost no one else he would trust to have hands on his throat like this; the Demon’s Head has far too many enemies, even (or rather, especially) among those that he is closest to.

“You are not wrong,” he murmurs, his hands resting idle on the papers ahead of him as he allows himself to ease into the circular massage of fingers against his skin. “There is still a place at my side,” he offers, as he does every time, “if you wish to stay.”

“I have to do my time, Damian. It’s what I chose; I’m not going to bow out halfway through.”

He turns against the hands on him, twisting in the chair to look up at his usually distanced lover. Older now than he was when they fell together; grey speckling through his hair in slightly darker tones than the lock of white at his temple, lines at the corner of his eyes and mouth and stubble along his jaw, but his eyes are no less bright than they ever were. Whatever else age has done to him, it has yet to touch Jason’s mind. Damian is eternally grateful for that.

“Does it count as doing your time if you slip in and out of prison as you choose?” Perhaps his tone is waspish, but the distance wears on him and every year spent apart is one less of those he will get to spend actually being able to touch his chosen lover. The occasional carefully hidden message or stolen night is not enough. “You have given enough years as it is, and you should serve less than you do; putting down a feral beast can hardly be considered murder.”

(He has considered taking Jason and dropping him in one of the pits, despite protests, to regain the years lost between them, but… he cannot. Jason might never forgive him for it, and he hates the lost years but the thought of driving his love away is a worse one.)

Jason steps around the chair, sinking down to kneel in front of him — Damian does not miss the slight wince as he comes down on his bad knee — and then reaching forward to take both his hands. There’s a kiss to the back of one, then the other. “This is the condition,” Jason reminds him. “I did what the world needed, but that didn’t make it right; this is the price. I can’t stay.”

He wishes to clutch at Jason’s hands, but that would betray more than he is comfortable revealing. “Things have changed,” he offers, slowly. “Father knows I am here now, we have… reached an arrangement. He would look the other way if you joined me; he would tolerate anything that might keep me to my word.”

“I heard that there was a fight,” Jason says, sidestepping the issue with skill he is not surprised by. Only irritated. “That’s why I came; I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

He is not, not entirely, but Jason does not need such troubles to worry him when he leaves. Again. "I am uninjured, yes. The boy chosen as replacement is decent enough, but no match for me. The only reason he was a challenge at all was the suit he wore; the one designed to win at any cost, you recall it."

Damian thinks maybe that will do it, but Jason's mouth tightens a bit and the hands on his squeeze with gentle pressure. "Not fun meeting your replacement, is it? You know that Bruce would give you Batman in a second, if you asked, right? You're his kid, Damian. If you want the mantle then just ask him for it, but if you're satisfied with what you have here then try to let it go." He scoffs, and Jason echoes it before giving a small grin. "Yeah, I'll be the last person to expect you to drop a grudge just like that, but the kid's just a kid. He's never going to be you."

Another kiss to the back of his hand, before Jason lifts up on both knees and reaches in to slide a hand around the back of his neck. He allows the kiss; he's never been able to turn Jason away in any physical manner, no matter his irritation.

"Which is good," Jason adds when it ends, voice soft, "because god knows how the world would handle two of you."

"Poorly," he decides, lifting his hands to run through Jason's hair, combing the white streak back into the rest of it. "I would never allow there to be two of me; I refuse to share you, my love." Jason turns into one of his hands, kissing at his wrist, and Damian holds back a sigh of both pleasure and weariness. "You should not be on that knee; come to bed with me, love. Let me have you for this night, before you go."

Jason gives an exaggerated groan, but allows Damian to pull them both to standing, though he loops one heavy arm around his waist and keeps him close instead of heading towards the bed. "I'm injured, Damian, not crippled. It's just an old injury; I can handle it."

Damian frowns his displeasure. "I would believe that if I thought it received proper care; I do not trust that those who run the prison you are confined in care to give such attention." He presses his hand to the shoulder of the arm around his waist, curling his fingers into the cotton of the shirt and demanding, "You will allow one of my medics to look at it before you go."

There's a small laugh, but Jason relents. "Alright. You can have someone prod at me in the morning, but I have to leave after that. Bribes only hold so long."

"I will not argue it," is the only thing he's willing to offer. He leans up far enough to brush a kiss to Jason's jaw, not so far out of reach now as it was years ago. "Come to bed, love. Relearn my skin, as I will yours."

"You talk like I've forgotten," Jason murmurs, with a smile. "I don't care how long passes, I could never forget you, Damian."

The words warm his chest. He pulls, and Jason follows him through his quarters to the bed in the adjoining room. Jason presses close to his back when they stand at the foot of it, fingers sliding with familiar ease in between the layers of his clothing and loosening the ties that keep it held together. He lets his head fall back as Jason's mouth finds his throat, lips and teeth pressing to his skin as fingers breach the last barriers of cloth to touch his body itself. He arches, lifting a hand to curl into Jason's hair and scrape his fingernails against the scalp below.

Jason pulls the robes from his shoulders, letting all of it slide to the ground at their feet and baring his skin to the room. One hand follows the path of his spine with firm pressure, from base to between his shoulder blades so his body curves beneath it, falling further into the arch as he trusts to the weight and careful attention of it. Jason would not let him fall.

"You're as gorgeous as ever," is breathed against the back of his neck. "I want to spend this night enjoying every single inch of you; let me find everything I've missed."

He nearly gives to that request, nearly closes his eyes and sinks into the touch and allows all thought to abandon him for the night. But the reminder sticks that it will be only a _night_ , and that… It is not enough. He needs more than a single night once or twice a year; he desires a _partner_ , as they were originally before Jason did what the rest of the family was unwilling to. Damian tightens his grip in Jason's hair, twisting his head to look back at him.

"Marry me," he asks, though he does not believe there is a question to it.

Jason blinks at him, confusion deepening the lines that show on his face. "What?"

Damian turns to face him. "Marry me, my love. I don't have to hide anymore, and I want to call you _mine_. Openly." He traces his fingers along Jason's temple, following the curve of his ear and then cupping his cheek. "A few pieces of paper and signatures and it could be done. You and I, tied together with no one who could stop us. Say yes."

For a moment Jason only stares at him, eyes wide and clearly shocked. But then he shakes his head, laughs, and says, "You know, usually when someone proposes they kneel. Offer a ring." A smile, and fingers brush his cheek and press under his jaw to lift it for a brief kiss. "But you don't do anything normally, do you? Yes, Damian, of course I will."

He didn't believe that he had any doubt, but still something eases in his chest and throat when Jason agrees. He smiles as well, and forces himself to pull away before he can be distracted by any further touch. "Good. I'll send for them."

"What, right now?"

He's already crossed to the phone resting on his bedside table; modern tech out of place amongst the older walls but he will drag this organization into the present no matter how much effort it takes. "Yes, now. I do not wish to wait any longer to call you my husband."

There's a softer laugh, and then Jason presses up against his back once more, arms wrapping around his chest and lips pressing to his hair. "Impatient brat. Alright, you got it. Tonight it is."

* * *

Jason stretches out, pushing his arms above his head and nearly sighing when his hands meet the hard concrete of his cell long before they actually manage to stretch out as well. That’s one thing he does miss, the space.

Well, no. He misses a lot of things from outside of the walls — really good food, privacy, _Damian_ — but the space is what he’s most often reminded of. He thinks Bruce pulled some strings, and he knows he pulled a lot more, so he’s in one of the nicer prisons in the state and his cell is one of the nicest in the place. Not that it counts for much, but he has actual floor space and got his pick of cellmates, so there’s that.

“Todd!”

Oh, anonymity. He misses that too. People don’t know the full story, of course, but he went with as much truth as he could manage. Jason Peter Todd, magically resurrected and set on a course of revenge against the man responsible for the bombing that killed him; Joker. The rest? Just steps on the path. Getting publically convicted as _the_ Red Hood has caused some problems; he’s dealt with what he can.

He pushes up on his bed; one of his on-the-take guards leans against the edge of the open cell door with a smirk. “You’ve got a visitor. Let’s go, Red.”

One of his eyebrows lifts, but Jason follows the prompting to roll off the bed and stand, this time taking a real stretch with both arms behind his head. His spine cracks satisfyingly loudly. “A visitor?” he asks, as the guard motions him out of the cell and out among the rest of the prisoners. They get out of the way, probably as much because of his presence as because of the guard escorting him.

He hasn’t had a visitor in… years, he thinks. Dick stopped by a few times at the start, most of the family did, but people stopped coming. Most of them didn’t want to face the reality of what he’d done, or the necessity of it. Bruce stopped by exactly once, to look him in the eye as they talked about things shallow enough that none of the eavesdropping morons around them would hear anything telling. Never again after that.

And Damian… Damian couldn’t. He was half in hiding, and they were all sure that Bruce kept careful watch on anyone who decided to come in contact with Jason. Plus, Bruce never really knew (as far as _they_ know) about the two of them. It was a distant, careful thing long before he was ever in prison; maybe some of the family figured it out, but they never told anyone and no one ever directly asked. Jason honestly doesn’t know who in their family knows.

None of that answers the question of who it is that’s come to visit him.

“Wasn’t expecting anyone,” he comments, as they get to the door of the visiting area and the guard buzzes to be let through. “Any hints?”

“Dunno; I just got the call to collect you.” The guard pauses, catching the door as it opens and holding it aside for him almost automatically, but frowning back at him. “You don’t think it’s some kind of assassin?”

“Probably not likely.”

He slips past the guard to survey the tables set up in the room. Most are occupied by pairs or threesomes, but near one corner is one occupied by just a single man, and Jason’s eyebrows lift towards his hair when he catches sight of him. Damian stands, tall and lean and dressed in a tailored, semi-formal, dark green shirt and a pair of equally tailored black slacks. He looks _supremely_ out of place in the sort of dingy room, especially considering those clothes probably cost more than it took to build.

“Damian?” he asks, as he gets closer; they’ve got an audience consisting of most of the guards, visitors, and prisoners, trying and failing to look like they’re not paying attention. “What are you doing here?”

Damian adjusts one of the cuffs of the shirt, idly, as they face each other. “I told you, didn’t I? I don’t have to hide anymore, and I have no intention of continuing to.” A step forward, breaching the boundaries of acceptable distance between two men with the same deliberate action that sees a hand wrap around the back of his neck and a mouth find his.

It startles him, but he eases into the familiar touch all the same. His hands come to Damian’s waist, at least until there’s an equally familiar shout of, “Todd! Hands off!”

He’s tempted to throw up one particular finger, but instead he just lets go and somewhat mockingly waves his hands as he holds them out at his sides. Damian doesn’t let him go for several more seconds, and he doesn't even think to break the contact himself. The guards can drag him away or Damian can back off, but if it were up to Jason he’d spend every moment he has left in his life pressed close to Damian’s warmth. So he stays that way until Damian shifts back, squeezing his neck under strong fingers and with a clearly satisfied smirk.

Even with the stolen night just a few days ago, that smirk makes him want to press Damian down over the closest surface and kiss it until neither of them can breathe. He bets Damian still has lingering hickeys from his teeth, down beneath those tightly fitting slacks.

"I'm not really allowed to touch you," he murmurs, mostly as a reminder to himself.

"Tt." The hand leaves his neck and wraps around his left wrist instead, pulling him towards the table. "I am aware of your rules; I do not care for them. Sit."

Damian doesn't let go of his hand, but that's alright with him. He takes one side of the table, Damian the other, their hands meeting in the middle. "Who did you tell them you were?"

One eyebrow arches. "Your husband, of course." Jason's eyes widen, and Damian's smirk returns. His head turns as he reaches into the pocket of his slacks with his free hand. Jason follows the movement, watching as it reemerges with a silver-colored band between two fingers. "Platinum," Damian says simply, as he flattens out the hand he's holding against the table and, without ceremony, lays the ring in the center of it. "It is less obviously valuable than gold, and much stronger. I acquired a matching set for us; other designs can be decided upon once you are free of this place."

"You got me a ring." Jason lifts the band of metal, taking it between two fingers to turn it and look closer. There's an irregularity on the inside, something inscribed in darker, more yellow metal that he thinks actually is gold. "What does it say?" he asks, when he identifies the markings as letters from the League-Arabic dialect he thinks Ra's half invented. He can speak some of it, but his grasp of the letters is nearly nonexistent; he's always been better with spoken language as opposed to written.

The foreign tongue flows from Damian's mouth with all the same grace and beauty as the arch of his body in combat. It sounds familiar, but Jason can't quite place the words. His reaction must show it.

Damian takes the ring from him, turning his hand over and then sliding it carefully onto his finger. "It says 'Mine; in every way.'"

Jason gives a soft laugh, flexing his fingers and watching the band of metal settle snugly into place. “Matching set?”

“Of course.” Damian retrieves a second band from the same pocket, slightly smaller for more slender fingers, and presses it into his hand. “I thought you would want to put it on yourself.”

It’s not the same as the deep, nearly ecstatic feeling he got signing the papers with Damian only a few days ago, but still he takes Damian’s left hand with something approaching reverence. He slides the ring into place — of course they fit; Damian probably has measurements of every part of both of them — and then lifts it to press a kiss to his knuckles. Damian doesn’t quite smile, but there’s a small, pleased quirk of the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t blush this time, but Jason smiles against his knuckles with the memory of all the times before; he’s always been able to make Damian blush when he really wants to, only takes a soft touch.

“Yours,” he promises. “Witnessed and everything.”

Damian scoffs, not taking so much as a glance at the rest of the room. “As far as they are concerned, I have been overseas running a business. Now that I am officially back and free of the micromanagement it required, I intend to be here at every opportunity allowed. Visitation, and of course since we _are_ a married couple, we are entitled to conjugal visits as well. I intend to make full use of them.”

“Sneaky bastard,” he breathes, smile threatening to become a grin. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

“I was tired of the infrequency of our meetings,” is about all the confirmation that Damian offers. “Let Father worry about keeping his own secrets; I am past caring enough to hide this, or anything else.”

Jason blinks. “Wait, did I just marry a _Wayne?_ ”

Damian smirks. “Or an al Ghul, depending on the country. Would you like to change your name, Jason? I think ‘Jason al Ghul’ has a decent ring to it.”

The grin escapes, and he squeezes Damian’s hand. “I love you, you know.”

All around the edges, Damian softens. He squeezes back. “I know.”


End file.
